


affection

by novoaa1



Category: DCU
Genre: F/F, Just a drabble, POV Selina Kyle, u know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 20:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20918381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Selina doesn't do love, or 'affection,' or whatever the general populous calls it when the person who makes you smile wraps you up in the warmest of hugs and you can't do anything but smile stupidly large because you just feel so damnedmuchfor them in that moment—Ahem.She's getting off track here.Or: Selina has one rudimentary life philosophy largely revolving around the insistence that she 'doesn't do feelings'... Harley, in typical Harley fashion, takes a bit of a proverbial chainsaw to the whole 'no feelings' thing, and Selina's left scratching her head in the wake of it all trying haplessly to piece together what the hell just happened, particularly why in theworldher chest feels all warm and tingly inside whenever Harley so much as looks her way.





	affection

**Author's Note:**

> i actually had this in my notes since forever like. idk why i never posted it
> 
> but uh. me loving harley quinn more than life itself? more likely than u thiNK holy shit
> 
> i fr can't believe i havent written for her yet because like??? i??? love her????? so much???
> 
> ahh anyways

Selina’s never been one for love… or even friendship, really. 

Maybe it makes her stupid, or cynical, or whatever else Mr. Fancy Pants Bruce Wayne will tell her whenever they have the misfortune of crossing paths amongst their respective nightly trysts out of on the streets of Gotham—but, whatever, alright? 

It’s not like it’s news to anyone that she was raised to be a low-life grifter scrounging for money on the streets with no family and trust issues through the metaphorical roof—and, along those lines, it’s not exactly news to anyone that that’s exactly who she grew to be.

Through it all, she’s never been one for stupid crushes or trying to find herself or staying in on Friday evenings for ‘Girls’ Night’ with glasses of wine and mani-pedis all around. 

And, you know, she’s still not—she’s pretty damn sure she never will be, either, and that’s more than alright with her. 

But, there’s something… well, there’s something infuriatingly (read: intoxicatingly) domestic about returning nightly to the flat in metropolitan Gotham she shares with Harley (and Ivy, on occasion). 

It’s like… fondness, or maybe even adoration, even as she knows the danger of allowing herself to feel such ridiculous emotions. 

It’s like a warmth spreading unbidden in her chest beneath the stiff leather of her catsuit with every ridiculously wide grin Harley sends her way, like something magical inherently infused within every time the eccentric pig-tailed blonde jumps into Selina’s empty lap with a girlish squeal despite the way Selina glares crossly at her in reply, like something dangerously akin to affection blooming with every mangled artsy craft Harley will present to her that Selina can’t for the life of her recognize as whatever it is that Harley will insist it’s supposed to be. 

And, of course, tonight is no different—she drops silently down onto the catwalk from the roof of the apartment building, then reflexively pries open the window to their shared apartment on the fourth floor, and, when she’s maneuvered herself deftly inside and dropped to the carpet flooring without a sound, she’s not surprised by the squealing mass of _Harley_ that promptly throws itself into her outspread arms approximately a second later as if on cue. 

She’s not surprised, either, by the infuriating resemblance of _something_ that curls in her gut as Harley’s unnaturally-pale-white arms tighten around her neck, as the precious smell of cotton candy and smoke and something else she can’t quite name fills her nostrils, as the ex-doctor lets loose a high-pitched giggle into her neck and she shivers involuntarily in reply, the warmth of it fleeting and divine and _beautiful_ even in its tragic brevity. 

God, she has it bad. 

— —

**Author's Note:**

> thots? (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/))


End file.
